


Silence

by PastelLimes



Category: Doctor Strange (Comics)
Genre: Based on my own Misophonia which is wHACK, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Misophonia, i wrote this quickly and it shows, minor thought of violence, soft boys in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-13
Updated: 2019-03-13
Packaged: 2019-11-17 12:46:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18098798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PastelLimes/pseuds/PastelLimes
Summary: As Stephen needs to Wong to even him out, Wong needs Stephen to do the same.





	Silence

**Author's Note:**

> Howdy! I haven’t written in forever!!  
> Stephen and Wong own my heart and they deserve more content.  
> This is based on my Misophonia and trigger noises, so this is basically Self Projection: The Fanwork 
> 
> For those who don’t know, Misophonia is a brain-based/psychiatric disorder that involves triggered emotions, actions, or responses based on auditory and, sometimes, visual stimuli. Noises like breathing, chewing, tapping, or sniffing can be triggers. Bouncing legs or repetitive movements can also be triggers.
> 
> Enjoy!

**Silence**

Wong had always felt this way, but he never had a solid word to describe it. Unexplained anger, surges of fight or flight, the drowning feeling of overwhelming frustration, rage, hatred. All from the gas stove flickering to life. All from the patter of rain and hail on the Vishanti Seal window. All from Zelma aimlessly beating the eraser of her pencil against an open, half-filled book.

Eyeing the pink eraser, Wong resisted urges upon urges. He grit his teeth behind sealed lips, which twitched at the right corner, barely noticeable. Shelving another tomb, proven to still be puttering with magic after the Empirikull attack, Wong dug his nails into the leather bound spine, his insides trembling with an oncoming earthquake. 

Tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap. 

Wong shut his eyes, huffing just a snippet too loud. 

He descended the ladder, keeping his own feet hitting the arms softly, inaudible. Reaching for another book, he caught Stephen looking at him with dark, black brows furrowed. Wong avoided his glance and fingered the pages, going quietly through the water-worn, stone decorated book. The ink writing inside shimmered a deep ocean green, dully albeit, when it caught the light.

Tap, tap, tap. 

Wong screwed his eyes shut before casting an irritated glance at Zelma. He shut the book soundlessly. She sat at a desk Stephen had pulled into the library for her, writing notes in her large book, a record of every tomb, grimoire, scroll, and torn out pages in Stephen Strange’s vast library. She beat the eraser against the open pages, creating a dull tapping. Wong wanted to rip the pencil from her hand, snap it over his knee so that he could dig the jagged edges into his ears. He held his breath, waiting for his lungs to burn before mounting the ladder again. He exhaled what would’ve been a scream. 

Tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap. 

With a forceful shove, Wong jammed the book into its slot, shutting his eyes. “Stop!” he hissed, pressing the flat of his palm against the stone spine, laced with golden, yet rusted, patterns. His fingers shook uncontrollably, splayed from his hand. 

Zelma stopped her tapping. “What?” She asked, her voice raised with honest intrigue. Wong practically let himself stomp down the ladder. 

“The tapping! Stop it!” He barked, jabbing a finger through the air to point at her pencil, dangling to the side, crooked, in her loose hand. Stephen stood up, the Cloak of Levitation whirring to life, raising itself from the back of his chair, cocking its collar in a mockery of human curiosity. 

Stephen’s eyes flickered with understanding. “Let’s get you some air,” he hastily suggested, walking over to Wong. Gently holding him by the shoulders, Stephen guided Wong out, keeping his footsteps just as light and silent as Wong’s. 

Once in the hallway, Wong pulled himself away from Stephen’s comforting hold, burying his raised faced in his palms, letting out an exhausted and ireful groan up at the ceiling. Stephen stood there, watching the occult servant as he paced the width of the hall, breathing heavily against his hands as he did so. Not wanting to miss anything and due to its nosy nature, the Cloak shimmied under the door and rested upon Stephen’s shoulders. It pushed against Stephen’s back, urging him on. 

“Take a breath,” he started and Wong followed. He inhaled, jaggedly and hitching often. Wong dropped his hands from his face to his sides, balling up the emerald green fabric of his uniform. He breathed again and Stephen stepped closer. “Good, come here,” he advised, opening his arms. Wong walked into them, resting his furrowed brow against Stephen’s shoulder, covered in smooth fabric. Stephen wrapped his arms around Wong’s broad shoulders, flicking his hand to cast a minor spell. Complete silence enveloped them, causing Wong to relax in Stephen’s embrace. 

Silently exhaling, Stephen pressed a kiss to the top of Wong’s head, rubbing circles into the smaller man’s back, soothing him, calming him down. Keeping things quiet. For him. 

Wong sighed, backing away, more composed and relaxed by a landslide. Carefully, he ran his hands over his face, letting his hands cup his cheeks for a moment. “Thank you,” he breathed out, drumming his index finger against his cheekbone in a specific pattern. He opened his eyes, black meeting blue. Stephen smiled warmly, folding his arms over his chest, his sleeves bunching up. 

“No problem, handsome,” he said softly, putting a witty tone on the complimentary name. Wong’s face cracked with a toothy grin. 

“Stop,” Wong retorted playfully, shoving Stephen gingerly in the shoulder. The Sorcerer walked back up to Wong and hugged him again, lifting him off the ground by an inch or two.

“Make me,” Stephen quipped, chuckling lightly as Wong scrunched up his face, trying to free himself. Both of them smiled as Stephen set him down. 

Wong’s heart fluttered. The silence, Stephen, the flush on his cheeks alleviate all previous frustrations and grievances. Anger lifted, leaving room for relief, joy, and giddy love to take its place. He felt like a trainee again, all in love with the other boys at the monastery, but with Stephen. His kindness, his radiance, his everlasting patience when not tested. 

He grabbed Stephen’s face in his no longer trembling hands and kissed the doctor gently, pressing his soft lips to his, savoring it, holding it, nothing passionate, just them. Wong brushed his thumb over the stubble on Stephen’s jaw. Drawing away, Wong pressed his forehead to Stephen’s, leaning onto his toes to make them even. Stephen rubbed his hands along the length of Wong’s arms, smoothing and crinkling the silk fabric. Quiet surrounded them again. 

“Thank you, for the silence, Stephen.”

**Author's Note:**

> Ah! Thanks for reading and I’m sorry this was kindaaaa bad :”)


End file.
